


Presents

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Birthday Presents, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-07
Updated: 2009-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-29 11:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18777775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: It's Jim's birthday.He doesn't like his present.





	Presents

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for janedavitt. 
> 
> Jane, you've been such a lifeline, as well as such an utterly dear and wonderful friend, as well as such an inspiration and help; I wish I could give you back even a tenth of everything you've given me over the past several years.

"What? Jags tickets? A six-pack? A vintage autographed Santana poster?" Sandburg looked a little ticked off.

"Oh, for Pete's sake. I told you it was --"

"'Nice', yeah. I knew I should've gotten you something else. Wal-Mart has a sale on white socks; I should've gone with that." Glaring; Sandburg was definitely glaring now.

Jim eyed the statue he'd set on top of the coffee table and once more resisted the urge to cover the thing back up with the wrapping paper he'd -- unfortunately -- removed it from; it was a toss-up whether the statue or Blair was currently less appealing to look at. Birthdays were a pain in the ass.

"I just thought that the symbolism was… Oh, forget it." Blair ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

Jim sighed, too. 'Nice' clearly hadn't cut it, even though it had been the best he could muster to try to soften the involuntary 'What the hell is it?' that had been his first reaction. And Sandburg's fifteen-minute exposition on who'd made the damned thing and why they'd made it -- although nothing Blair had said had excused its creation, in Jim's opinion -- hadn't helped him come up with anything more convincingly enthusiastic, either.

"Just tell me what you want instead, all right? I'll take this back to --"

Somebody wanted this thing enough to be willing to take it back? Jim looked at it again in disbelief. Blair was saying something about some professor in his department as he paced back and forth in front of the balcony windows and Jim settled back more comfortably on the couch and let his attention wander. After all, it _was_ his birthday, and there were plenty of more interesting things to think about than the future career of this piece of… symbolism.

"-- serious, Jim. Might as well get you something you'll actually like this time, right? I mean, I know I could go with doughnuts or some Michelob, or maybe even the two-dozen pack of the socks, but I'm too tapped out for the Jags tickets right now, and..."

And you found this thing in the dumpster behind Hargrove Hall for free, Jim thought, uncharitably. Hell, looking at the thing, that was probably true. At least Sandburg wasn't in dental school, or Jim probably would've ended up with a package of floss or a root canal.

"-- double-bacon-cheeseburger gift certificates or something. So?"

Cheeseburgers? Now Sandburg was talking.

"So? Jim?" Blair stopped pacing and sat down on the coffee table beside the statue, facing Jim. He looked exasperated. "So," he repeated, "what do you want? Up to you, man. If I can afford it, anyway."

The fingers of his right hand were doing a little dance on the top of his thigh and his knee was brushing against Jim's, and cheeseburgers weren't everything. What the hell, Jim thought. What the fucking hell. He wasn't getting any younger. "I don't know if you can afford it," he said, and made a stab at putting everything he didn't especially want to put into words into his expression.

And whiz-kid Sandburg could be as slow as shit about certain things, obvious things, but Jim had to give him credit here -- he swallowed hard and his fingers stopped their dance on his thigh; they stopped dancing, and started digging into it instead, gripping tightly enough to whiten his knuckles.

Good. No more dancing. They'd both been doing enough of that for months now.

"Well, there's one way to find out," Blair said after a minute. He cleared his throat, looking a little nervous. "If you want."

Too bad he hadn't been this nervous about giving Jim the statue; a few second thoughts about that could've saved a bunch of wrapping paper and a hell of a lot of unnecessary symbolism.

On the other hand, if he'd gotten Jim something decent, or useful, or even just marginally identifiable, Jim wouldn't be about to do what he was about to do. Not tonight, anyway.

And since he wasn't getting any younger…

"I want," he answered Blair, sending his gaze on a quick recon over Blair's body as he mentally mapped out the upcoming mission. "Doesn't mean I don't want the cheeseburgers, too."

Blair's knee brushed against Jim's knee again. "Not the socks?" He didn't look nervous anymore. And for the first time since Jim had unwrapped that godawful statue, he was smiling.

"Cheeseburgers," Jim said firmly, letting his knee start to do a little brushing of its own as he smiled back at Blair. Birthdays, he thought, you gotta love 'em.  
   
 


End file.
